Kindred Spirits
by ob frankenfics
Summary: After a bad breakup, Cosima secludes herself at a cottage in the Irish countryside. Too bad it's haunted.
1. Chapter 1

Cosima Niehaus shivered as she stepped inside the dimly lit pub, rivulets of water dripping off her crimson rain slicker and pooling at her feet in a small puddle. London's infamous bad weather hadn't disappointed in the slightest since she landed at Heathrow. Groaning, Cosima felt, and most likely resembled, a drowned rat. Wonderful. She pulled back her soggy hood and wrinkled her nose at the bittersweet stench of hops and barley that mingled with the body heat of the bar's patrons and hung thickly in the air. Cosima had half a mind to turn right around and get drenched again when she noticed her best friend stomping toward her through the crowd, the heavy footfalls of her black boots thudding against the hardwood floors loudly enough to be heard over the din of ongoing conversations.

"Cos, you made it!" Sarah shouted, grabbing Cosima's elbow and pulling her toward a wooden table in a corner of the pub. Its black surface was uneven and sticky, and Cosima wondered if it had been wiped down recently. Or, like, ever.

She bit back a grimace as she shook off her coat, hung it on a nearby rack, and gingerly lowered herself on a rickety chair that she was sure would collapse at any given moment. Sarah straddled her own seat on the opposite side and gave her a toothy, lopsided grin.

"Hope you don't mind I started without you," Sarah said, lifting a pint of some kind of dark stout and chugging down the remnants. She slammed the glass down on the table with a satisfied smack of her lips and motioned for the server.

"'Nother round, if you please," she ordered in a booming voice. "And one for my friend here, who finally came to her senses, dumped her crazy blonde bitch of a fiancée, and abandoned their shithole of a flat in 'merica."

Random choruses of "here, here" sprung from some of the neighboring customers and Cosima stifled another groan.

"Sarah, I haven't _dumped_ anyone or _abandoned_ anything," Cosima explained through gritted teeth. "This is all just," she removed her glasses and wiped the frames with the hem of her sweater, "a break or whatever."

"A break," Sarah repeated. "You caught that no-good ho cheating on you in your own damn bed. You tellin' me you might go back to that?"

Ignoring the painful twist inside her chest at the memory of her naked fiancée tangled between the legs of a stranger, Cosima settled her glasses back on the bridge of her nose and shrugged wearily.

"You've gotta be shittin' me," Sarah scoffed. "Please tell me you got rid of the ring at least."

"Yes, of course I did!"

Cosima felt oddly proud of herself for not squirming in her seat and for keeping her eyes trained on Sarah even though they were tempted to dart toward her coat pocket. Thankfully, the server returned and set down two fresh pints in front them, and Cosima immediately took a sip of the coffee-like beer so she could hide her lie. The truth was, Cosima had no interest in talking about her ex or the shitstorm of drama she just upped and left behind the second Sarah had asked for a favor. But she knew that Sarah, who already was lifting a skeptical eyebrow, wouldn't let her off the hook that easily.

"I dunno, okay?" Cosima finally said, placing her glass down a little too forcefully and causing some of the frothy head to spill over the top and splash onto her hand. "That's why I'm here, isn't it? To figure shit out and save your ass in the process." She wiped her hand on a cloth napkin and gave her friend a pointed look. "Like always."

"All right, all right." Sarah rolled her eyes and waved her off. "No need to be a twat about it." She dug into the pocket of her black jeans and pulled out a tarnished key that was rusting along the edges. "I've already texted you the address."

Cosima picked up the key and absentmindedly ran the pad of her thumb along its jagged teeth, leaving small indentations in her skin. "I still can't believe your grandmother left you an entire cottage."

"You an' me both." Sarah lifted her drink to her lips. "Tried to hand it over to S, but she wants nothing to do with the place." She shrugged. "The sooner I can fix it up and sell it, the better."

"I'll do what I can out there." Cosima tucked the key into her pocket.

Hazel-brown eyes turning serious, Sarah hesitated slightly before adding, "Listen, Cos, I'll be back in a couple of months but… take all the time you need out there, 'kay? And if you have any sorta trouble, give S a call."

"She still in Dublin?"

"Yeah. Said she'd check in on you in a week or so."

Cosima nodded gratefully, already looking forward to isolating herself in the Irish countryside. It would be quiet. Peaceful. Just the escape she needed. And she was pretty sure she couldn't possibly need any help while out there.

* * *

Less than 24 hours later, Cosima gripped the peeling leather steering wheel of the cramped, subcompact, manual transmission deathtrap she had rented to drive out into the middle of buttfuck nowhere. Her teeth chattered and her toes were uncomfortably numb, an added nuisance courtesy of driving on the wrong side of the uneven, pockmarked dirt road and the car's shitty heating system. She had been driving for more than three hours since landing in Dublin, trying to follow directions scribbled by Sarah in such haste that Cosima wondered if she was even reading English.

It was, without a doubt, beautiful scenery; the kind of landscape Cosima would normally cherish with awe and wonderment. But she had passed so many hills and trees and sheep and muck that she was convinced she had become trapped driving in circles in bucolic hell.

The sun was beginning to set and she was about to give up entirely when she reached the edge of a bog with a name that had far too many letters and syllables for Cosima to even attempt pronouncing, rounded yet another bend and _finally_ saw Sarah's inheritance in the distance. Or at least she _hoped_ it was the right cottage _._ With one hand still on the wheel, Cosima fished inside her coat pocket and pulled out a creased polaroid that Sarah had given to her before they parted.

Squinting at it, she exhaled sharply in relief when the photograph matched the small structure she was approaching. The discolored image in the floppy white frame didn't do the place justice in the slightest. Against the backdrop of the burnt crimson sunset and surrounding pasture, the house was quite lovely, albeit a little run down. Twisted vines of dark green ivy wound up the gray cobblestone façade, leaves tangling over the faded slope of the thatched roof.

Cosima brought the tiny car to a stop with a high-pitched squeal outside of a wrought iron gate that may have once been black many moons ago, but now was covered in splotches of reddish-brown rust. She stepped out of the car, stretched out her arms above her head with an appreciative groan, and breathed in the cold twilight air sweetened by vegetation and earth, with just a touch of bitter sulfur from the nearby bog. Resting her hands on her hips, she looked to her left. Right. Then slowly turned in a small circle. There was nothing but grass and trees as far as she could see. No other houses. No other people. No noise save for the rustling of leaves.

The jarring stillness contrasted sharply to the constant commotion of San Francisco and unease began to weave its way between Cosima's ribs when she realized that she would _actually_ be completely alone for the first time in… well… as long as she could remember. But she took a deep breath and forced herself to ignore it. This was what she wanted. To be alone.

So it was _quiet._

No biggie.

Quickly retrieving her luggage from the backseat of the car, Cosima unlatched the rusted gate, and swung it open with a cringe-inducing creak. She rolled her suitcase up the uneven stone path, the wheels snagging in holes and weed-filled cracks along the way, until she stepped up to a battered oak door. Struggling with the lock for a few moments, she made a note to pick up some WD-40 when she went to town for groceries in the morning before finally pushing the door open with a firm shove of her shoulder.

Inside, the air was musty and a bit stale and-a tickle formed in her sinuses and she let out a loud sneeze-dusty too. It reminded Cosima of the basement of the old bookshop in San Francisco where she had met…

She shook her head vigorously, banishing that particular memory out of her mind and adding cleaning supplies and air freshener to her mental checklist. She shut the front door behind her and flipped on a light switch to her right, thankful when a light hanging from the exposed wooden ceiling beams came to life.

To Cosima's surprise, the home was fairly well-kept despite obvious disuse. To her right was a cozy living room with a tan upholstered sofa and matching recliner next to a stone fireplace blackened around the hearth. An antique clock made of glass and bronze sat atop the mantle, its hands frozen at 11:17. A small kitchenette was situated to her left. The heels of her boots clacked softly on the hardwood floor as she walked past a compact square table positioned between the two rooms, her fingers lightly skimming the sheen of dust on the surface. She went through a doorway behind the table and into a small bedroom with a full-sized bed and little else besides an armoire and a nightstand. That room led to a bathroom that had just enough space, but not by much, to accommodate a toilet, a sink, and a clawfoot tub.

The place would more than meet her needs, Cosima thought. Nodding to herself, she made her way back to the living room and, miraculously, managed to start a fire. The meager flames cast a soft glow around the room as she began rummaging through the cabinets and drawers in the kitchen. She eventually found an old copper kettle and some tea bags that didn't look _too_ sketchy (or at least she hoped).

In no time, steam whistled through the air and Cosima snuggled into the couch's lumpy cushions, a hot mug cradled between her palms, eyelids already drooping behind her dark frames from lingering jetlag. She sipped at her tea for a few minutes before setting it down on an end table and laying her head back. She needed to rest her eyes a bit before she unpacked. To get her second wind. That was all. Just a few minutes wouldn't… hurt…

* * *

The smell hit Cosima first, long before she even registered the chimes attempting to rouse her from slumber. It was floral, subtly so, but Cosima couldn't place the scent as she slowly opened her eyes. Night had fallen and shrouded the cottage in blue shadow, the moonlit windows doing little to soften the darkness. Despite the disorientation of waking in an unfamiliar place, she pulled herself up into a sitting position and blindly fished for her cellphone. When she found it and swiped the screen, its bright glare nearly blinded her and Cosima quickly snapped her eyes shut before cracking them open into slits to read the time behind the protection of her eyelashes.

 _11:17 p.m._

She had been asleep for more than three hours. She turned on her flashlight app and directed its beam toward the tinkling sounds emanating from the mantle clock above the fireplace. Brow furrowing in confusion, Cosima stood and walked toward it. With each step, the aroma in the room thickened until it was damn near overpowering. Cosima wondered if Sarah's grandmother had some type of potpourri hiding somewhere. She vowed to find it in the morning and chuck it into the bog.

When she reached the clock, she lifted it up and gently turned it over in her hands it to see if she could put an end to the chimes. But there was nothing. No switch. No battery panel she could pry off. The clock continued with the melody. And although she didn't recognize it, something about the plaintive notes tugged at her heart, a twinge of sadness nestling inside her chest.

Before she could ponder it further, a cold shiver ran down her spine and the chimes suddenly stopped. The subsequent silence was nearly deafening. Shaking her head, she placed the clock back on the mantle and, still groggy, decided to go to bed. In a few quick strides, she was in the bedroom. She tossed her phone on the nightstand and flopped onto the mattress, kicking off her boots and not caring about getting ready for bed. Cosima buried herself underneath the duvet, shivering one more time, and tried to block out the fragrance that seemed to follow her into the room and settle around her.

* * *

The perfume (or whatever) was gone when Cosima woke up late the next morning, and she proceeded to get ready for the day in all her bleary-eyed glory. She explored the cottage, taking note of all the books, old cards, and knickknacks strewn about. In a nightstand drawer, she found an old Polaroid camera, or "vintage," as the hipsters might say in order to justify paying an exorbitant amount for one. She pointed it at the armoire and pressed the shutter, pleasantly surprised when the flash went off and a slip of film slid out the front. Pinching the edge delicately, she watched as the picture slowly morphed from white to gray. When Cosima could make out the wardrobe's outline in the image, she smiled to herself and placed the photo and the camera back inside the drawer, paying no mind to the streaks of white that remained next to the furniture in the image.

She moved on to unpacking her things, taking special care with the small black velvet box she had carried across the Atlantic with her. She didn't open it. Couldn't bear to. Lest she thought about the finger it used to adorn, and who that finger belonged to. So she quietly hid it under her clothes in the armoire.

Cosima showered, dressed, and ate a shitty granola bar that her well-meaning, but annoying friend Alison insisted that she bring (" _Seriously, Cosima, what are you going to eat for breakfast? All they have is bangers and mash! And you_ do _know what's in black pudding, don't you?"_ )

As she passed by the living room, goose bumps prickled up her arms as her eyes landed on the antique clock, its hands still firmly pointed at XI and a little past III. Releasing a forceful exhale- _she had probably dreamt the whole thing, right_ -she sprinted out the door, hopped back into her rental car, and drove to Finuge, the nearest village.

She took her time in acquainting herself, stopping for lunch at a local pub owned by a mildly smarmy barkeep who could barely hide his scowl of disapproval when she asked about vegetarian options on the menu. Still, his cook managed to whip something up for. After her oh so delicious lunch of boiled potatoes, cabbage, and carrots, she picked up groceries and other assorted items she needed (like clock repair tools, you know, just in case) and returned to the cottage.

Then she got busy.

She fixed the creaky gate hinge, lubricated the front door lock, cleaned, and cleaned some more, wiping away layers upon layers of dirt and dust and grime. Although she hesitated slightly when she reached the fireplace, she nevertheless picked up the clock and polished it as best she could. She didn't think about the previous night. She didn't think about home. She just lost herself in the mundane as the day flew by in a flash.

Before long, Cosima had prepared and eaten dinner, made herself yet another cup of tea, and was tucked into bed a little past 10, exhaustion creeping into her bones. And right as she was beginning to drift to sleep…

The clock chimed.

Cosima's eyes snapped open and she shot up in the bed, heart thundering in her ribcage.

"What the fuck!?" She exclaimed harshly.

She glanced at the time on her phone.

 _11:17 p.m._

Again.

She jumped out of bed and walked to the living room, where the floral scent invaded her nostrils as soon as she crossed the threshold. Although a cold pit began forming in her stomach, she paid it no mind as she turned on the light and shook the clock, its gears and springs rattling in her hands even as the haunting melody continued to play. She found the tools she bought earlier that day and brought the clock to the dining table. To Cosima's relief, the chiming stopped when she opened the back panel, but the perfume of flowers continued to envelop her as she tinkered inside. She was no expert, but for the life of her, she couldn't figure it out. It was nothing more than a broken clock. Even when she replaced some gears, oiled them, and wound the clock, it still didn't work.

Sighing, Cosima rubbed her eyes underneath her glasses and decided to give up. She'd figure it out in the morning. She picked up the clock and turned to the fireplace and froze, nearly dropping the timepiece to the floor.

Standing by the fireplace was a… was a….

She had no idea. Whatever it was, it shimmered. Shadow and light. And it was gliding toward her. Heart leapfrogging firmly into her throat, Cosima closed her eyes, every single muscle seizing in fear.

And then she felt it.

A cool mist blanketed her and a deep sadness seeped into her bones, weakening her knees and making her entire body ache. It was overwhelming. Worse even than the pain she had felt when she had walked in on who she thought was the love her life with her head between another woman's thighs. And when Cosima thought she could take it no longer, the feeling vanished.

Cosima's eyes blinked open and she frowned, confusion compounding her breathless fear.

She was alone again.

Whatever she had seen was gone.

If it had even been there at all.

"What the hell is going on here?" Her voice shook. She was covered in a fine sheen of sweat even though she was shivering. It couldn't have been what she _thought_ she might have seen. _Those_ didn't exist. And the last time she had thought she had seen one, it had been a practical joke, courtesy of Sarah's younger step-brother, Felix, and some well-placed flashlights and mirrors.

There was a perfectly logical explanation for what was happening: her mind was playing tricks on her. That had to be it. Or all the stress from the implosion of her engagement was causing her to straight up go mental. Although she knew it was unfair, she cursed her ex for it because why the hell not. She cursed her for so many things over the past few weeks. Why not add insanity to the list of the wounds she had inflicted on her?

Placing the clock back on the mantle, Cosima hurried back to the bedroom and locked the door. She slid back in bed and promptly pulled the covers over her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She cleared her mind. Eventually, her heartrate evened out. But sleep eluded her the rest of the night, with ethereal glimmers floating along the edge of her dreams.

* * *

The next day, Cosima vowed to ignore the clock. If it wanted to freakishly chime at the same time each night, then it could chime away.

And chime it did.

That night.

And the next.

And the one after that.

It. Just. Wouldn't Stop.

She had half a mind to grab it and chuck it out into the yard. No doubt she would feel inordinately pleased if it crashed and splintered across the ground. But something stopped her. Something she couldn't quite place. An unnamable feeling. The smell of flowers that grew more and more potent with each passing night. An icy caress. A strange glister of white. Whatever it was, it kept her tethered there when other (saner) people might have fled.

By the end of the week, though, Cosima decided that she couldn't keep the strange occurrences to herself any longer and that Sarah needed to cut her trip short and come back to her inheritance.

* * *

"Bitch," Cosima cursed under her breath.

Her call to Sarah went straight to voicemail. _Again._ She had been trying to reach her elusive friend for the past three days, calling at every hour imaginable, leaving a dozen or more messages. And still nothing.

When a polite, robotic voice informed her that the mailbox she was trying to reach was currently full, Cosima nearly flung her phone clear across the room with a frustrated growl. Instead, she forcefully disconnected the call with a swipe of her thumb and let it clatter onto the dining table. She sunk onto its bench and pinched the bridge of her nose underneath her glasses. She was exhausted. She hadn't had a good night's sleep since she arrived, not with that damned clock and that damned perfume.

"Why me?" She groaned out softly, banging her forehead on the hardwood. Once. Twice. Just as she was about to go for a third, she felt the surface of the table vibrate against her skin as her phone buzzed from an incoming call. Cosima shot up, snatched the phone, and brought it to her ear without bothering to check the caller ID.

"Hello?" She answered somewhat desperately. "Sarah?"

"Wrong miscreant," came the familiar British drawl of Sarah's foster brother. "Try again."

"Felix," Cosima breathed out, not able to hide the disappointment in her tone.

"Now, don't get _too_ excited to hear from me," Felix deadpanned.

Cosima shook her head. "Sorry, I'm just… sorry. How are you doing? How's Toronto?"

"Oh I'm just peachy keen out here. Met a boy from the coroner's office. Don't ask. We're going on our first date tomorrow night." Felix's voice lilted with excitement. "And you? Sarah told me you're looking after our dear Nan's cottage. Are you bored out of your skull yet or what?"

"Yeah, about that... have you talked to Sarah recently? I've been trying to get a hold of her and…"

"Her phone's off or she's not returning your calls?"

"Yeah," Cosima huffed out in irritation.

"And this surprises you because…?"

"It doesn't." Cosima wearily rested her chin in the palm of her free hand. "I just really need to talk to her."

"Well maybe I can help, darling," Felix enthusiastically offered and Cosima grimaced.

"I dunno," she said, recalling the last time she made the mistake of confiding in Felix about her apparent close encounter with the supernatural. She had become the butt of a practical joke that haunted her throughout high school.

"C'mon spill it, geek monkey. Tell Felix all your woes."

Cosima sighed. "Fine. Have you, like, ever actually been here?"

"To the house that time forgot? Yeah, we used to go there as kids."

"And…" Cosima rolled her neck, "did anything… weird… ever happen while you were here?"

"Apart from having to help our Nan file the corns on her feet? No, not really."

"Oh."

"Why?"

"Nothing."

Cosima could feel Felix's suspicion over the phone. "What aren't you telling me?"

"It's nothing. It's-"

"Cosima," Felix said in his most stern, I'm-not-taking-any-shit-from-you voice.

"Okay, okay!" She looked up at the ceiling, unable to believe she was really going to say, "I think… I might not be… you know… _alone_ here."

"What? Like you have a squatter?"

"No, not like that."

"Then what?"

"I think…" She hesitated.

"Cosima, you're driving me crazy! What!?"

"I think this place might be haunted."

Silence fell over the line. Five seconds ticked away. Then 10. Finally, loud peals of laughter filled the void and Cosima somehow resisted the urge to hang up right then and there.

"So," Felix said between guffaws, "you're telling me that you, Ms. Hard Science PhD, think there's a ghost in the cottage."

"Look, I know it sounds crazy but… something definitely isn't right here." Cosima paused, a realization springing to mind. "You," she said, waving an accusing finger in the air as if Felix could see it. "You set this up, didn't you? You _and_ Sarah!"

"What!?" Felix asked incredulously. "How could I possibly? I'm practically on the other side of the world!"

"Goddammit, Felix, this isn't funny!" She wished she could somehow reach out over the wireless signal and throttle him. "I don't need this kind of bullshit right now!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up there, Cos," Felix placated, instantly sobering up. "I know I was an arse for what I did in high school. But I swear to you I haven't done anything to that cottage. And neither did Sarah."

He sounded so sincere and Cosima bit back a groan. If it really wasn't Felix and Sarah, then...

"So you've got a ghost," Felix summed up.

"It's either that or I've gone off the deep end."

"Quite possible."

"Felix," Cosima growled in warning

"Fine, fine, let me think," Felix said, breathing out an exaggerated sigh into the phone. "I can't do much about your mental health from here. But! I have a friend in the UK right now actually who might be able to help with your other problem."

"You… you do?" She perked up, cautiously so. "Who?"

"A ghost hunter."

Cosima thought she heard wrong. "A… a what?"

"A Ghost. Hunter," Felix repeated slowly. "I'll tell her to give you a call."

She didn't answer immediately. She was too busy smacking the heel of her hand to her forehead, unable to believe how the situation was going from somewhat crazy to ridiculously insane with two simple words. _Ghost. Hunter._

"Y-you're joking. Right?"

"I'm _dead_ serious."

"No, Felix." Cosima shook her head vehemently. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Because…" She slowly got to her feet and walked to the living room, all the while eying the clock that had been tormenting her all week. "Because I just need to get in touch with Sarah. That's all."

"And if we can't reach her, then what?"

"Then I'll get a hotel, book an early flight back home, and mail Sarah the key." Even as she said it, she knew she wouldn't. _Couldn't._

"Oh, come on, Cosima," Felix breathed out his exasperation. "You're supposed to be there to, like, find yourself or some shit. Don't tell me you're going to give up after a week?"

"I'm not giving up!" She stopped in her tracks, head hanging low, and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Whatever you say, darling," Felix said. "But can't you just give her a chance? I'm sure she could be there by tonight even. Just let her try to help you. And if she can't, then by all means, abandon the place."

Cosima stared at the clock, eyes tracing its burnished curves and edges, its Roman numeral face seemingly mocking and challenging her. "All right," she acquiesced. "One night. And if she's a freakin' crackpot, you best believe I'll be throwing her out on her ass."

She swore Felix practically squealed on the other end before uttering the famous last words: "You won't regret this."

* * *

Cosima stopped pacing between the living room, dining room, and kitchen to check her cell phone for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening. It was a quarter to 8. The so-called "ghost hunter" would be there in 15 minutes.

Groaning and shaking her head, Cosima wondered yet again what she had been thinking when she agreed to meet Felix's friend. Who in their right mind would choose "ghost hunting" as a profession? Really, who? Probably some whack-job with questionable personal hygiene, Cosima thought just as a loud knock thudded on the door and startled her.

The ghost hunter was early.

Hiding a grimace behind what she hoped was a welcoming smile, Cosima strode to the door and pulled it open. Air immediately squeezed out of her lungs, stomach dipping down to her knees, as she drank in the sight of the visitor on the other side.

* * *

 **A/N: So... approximately 11 million years ago, OBFrankenfics had a challenge in which participating writers had 168 hours to write a fic with the same prop (a Polaroid camera with 5 shots) and dialogue ("We're going to do an experiment"), but with different genres. Tatarrific, twig-height and jaybear1701 decided to combine their genres (fantasy, romance & sci-fi) and this story is the result. Next chap up soon! Happy Halloween!**


	2. Chapter 2

It had been three years since she'd been to Ireland, and had Delphine had a say in it, she wouldn't have stepped a foot on the island in at least as much time. It was only the tremendous debt of gratitude she owed to Felix that made her book the next Ryanair flight to Dublin after his phone call. After plugging in her coordinates into the GPS, she resolutely ignored the lilting directions provided by the navigator and kept her rental pointed west, toward Galway, adding easily another hour to her drive. It was a small price to pay to ensure that she would avoid going anywhere near Kilkenny County and the crumbling medieval crosses of Ahenny.

Her hands tightened around the steering wheel as the narrow road wound through a verdant valley toward her destination, and she tried hard to focus on the hairpin turns on the road and not let her mind wander to the last time she'd been in the country. She reached out to blindly press the radio buttons, hoping for something other than the Irish folk music currently filling her little Fiesta. The strands of Sinead's "Nothing Compares 2 U" came on and she hit the off button with a groan. Felix was going to owe _her_ after this trip.

She pulled into Finuge a little before seven o'clock, and picked a pub off the main street. It never hurt to eat a full meal before starting a job, and she was usually good at finding out a bit of local color as well. After sending a text to Cosima - what a ridiculous name - with her ETA, she settled at the bar with a pint and leaned forward with an open, friendly expression.

"What'll ya have, luv?"

"May I have a mutton stew, please. And, um, would you know the directions to the Kendall Malone place?"

The barkeep, a stout man in his forties with a leathery face and a pencil-eraser shaped wart on his chin, which Delphine studiously tried not to stare at, tilted his head and gave her a frank look.

"Kendall Malone, bless her soul. My ale cask's a lot fuller since she's been gone." He peered at her slyly. "Visiting your American friend then?"

Delphine smiled disarmingly. "She is a friend of a friend, yes. I am to help her with, ah, the cottage."

The man returned the same benign smile at her, one professional to another, and leaned over to wipe nonexistent condensation off the bar. Satisfied with his handiwork, he leaned back, appraising her frankly. Delphine took a slow sip of her ale, making a point of maintaining eye contact. There was lots to be learned here, if she passed whatever test was being administered.

Lips lightly pursed, the barkeep scratched at his wart with the rag, then leaned forward again, looking off into the distance. "Yes, the American, Cosima, she said she's fixing up the ol' place for Sarah, S's daughter."

Delphine made a humming sound, taking another drink of her Guinness.

"She seems nice enough, if a little hippy-dippy." He reached for a glass off the drying rack and Delphine tried not to wince as he used the same wart-tinged rag to start polishing the glassware. "A little down, like her dog just died. Tired. A bit .. _haunted_ ," Delphine's eyes snapped to him, and he smirked slightly, a point scored, "emotionally speaking, of course. It may be that she's on a mend from a rough patch, the way she's been taking that that sparkly ring out of her pocket and staring at it woefully every time she sits down for a drink."

"Ah, yes, well..," she hesitated, unsure how to proceed. It was clear that her doe-eyes blink-blink approach met a formidable, no-nonsense foe this time, but she could use information on the situation she was going in, and she was sure this man had answers.

Before she could assess a new approach, his face crinkled up, eyes almost disappearing with mirth. "Ah, I'm just acting the maggot with ya, lass. Ya were all serious on your fact-findin' mission, I had to mess with you a little. Now tell me, what do you want to know?"

Delphine grinned, a first genuine smile since she landed. "Can't mess with a professional, non? Well, then, I have a serious question for you."

The barkeep leaned in with mock seriousness, belied by the persistent crinkles around his eyes. "As they say in America, I'm all ears, lass."

Delphine leaned in as well, and husked out in a mock-whisper.

"Is the cottage haunted?"

The reaction was not what she expected as she saw him blink, face slowly smoothing out into a more serious, graver mien. He straightened out, and shook his head.

"No, lass. It's not haunted. I'd call it," here he paused, giving her another searching look, "visited. But you'll see, I venture." And with that he walked away to tend to another customer.

Delphine, sobering, her stew forgotten, placed a ten Euro bill on the bar and headed toward her car. Maybe this was not, after all, just a case of an urban American hipster and a creaky old house.

* * *

Delphine could see the cottage lights from a mile away, blinking in and out of sight as the winding road took her closer in. She shook her head and grinned in amusement - the small cottage practically levitated with luminescence even from this far out, and Delphine was sure that the American had every single source of light in it turned on. Fear of ghosts could, she mused, turn even the most energy conscious person into an energy-eating hog.

Her amusement quickly turned wry, as she pondered spending the night in the Irish countryside with an overwrought American. She was usually very good with the hand-holding portion of the job, was able to project an empathetic but calm demeanor while listening with patience to often hysterical, and inevitably needy clients. Empathy was an invaluable skill in this line of work, one she usually didn't lack, but the combination of being back in Ireland after...

She gripped the steering wheel tighter, fingers of her right hand unconsciously reaching out to rest over her heart. The memories came in visceral flashes, fresh and potent as ever, even after three years. _The feel of her lover's hands sliding up her naked torso, blue snakes inked on sinewy forearms moving as if alive with each caress bestowed upon her; the feeling of her breath cut from out of her, as though it were her chest pierced with arrows, as she watches her beloved's body slide down lifelessly; the final, welcome agony of the blade which slid between her ribs, ending the agony._

Delphine swerved the car to the grassy embankment on the side of the road, seatbelt biting into her shoulder with the sudden stop. She forced herself to take one deep breath after another, focusing on nothing but the patch of grass shining under her headlights, stark against the darkness of the countryside.

She always knew she'd be back in Ireland at some point, but had imagined that eventuality far off, when she felt prepared, ready to face her experiences. This, being thrust back so unexpectedly, was already playing games with her psyche. She had to steel herself, emotionally and mentally, if she were to have any success with whatever awaited her at the Kendall cottage. She put her car in gear forcefully, mouth set in a thin line, and continued her drive.

Delphine was still fairly certain that she was going to find nothing more than a conjurances of a silly American's overactive imagination. She tried not to let her annoyance build up an animus toward this unknown woman, a poor tourist who, Delphine tried to paint a sympathetic figure in her mind, had probably only wanted a few weeks of quiet time to tend to a bruised heart.

And yet, as she pulled into the cottage driveway and shut off the engine, Delphine couldn't shake a feeling of antipathy toward the woman who brought her here. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out into the ticking silence of the darkened car, steeling herself for the encounter. Then she got out and shouldered her equipment bag, heading toward the door.

* * *

The woman was attractive, Delphine conceded, even if in that peculiar 'hippy-dippy' way of white Americans who leaned toward the eccentric - her hair was dreadlocked, she had a nose ring and overlarge glasses, but she was pretty, if, unfortunately, a little dim.

Delphine shifted her weight, as the woman stood in the doorway silently gaping at her, hazel eyes blinking owlishly behind the cat-eye frames, and tried again.

"Hello, I'm Delphine Cormier? Felix's friend?"

"Yes! Yes. Of course, yes, please come in." Cosima stepped aside, waving her on in a flutter of hands and jangly bracelets, and Delphine ducked under the low threshold with a tight, polite smile. It was going to be a long night, she could feel it in her bones.

Once inside, she lowered her bag to the floor and took in the surroundings. The cottage seemed small, which should make her job easier. She traveled light for this job and there was a minimum of tracking gear in her bag.

She turned to her host, who still gawped at her silently, hands twisted into each other, and waved ahead, toward the interior of the cottage. "May I look around?"

"Ah, yeah, yeah, of course, please." This seemed to spur the small woman into action and she sprung forward, gesticulating. "Yes, let me show you around. There isn't much, you can practically see all of the place from the entryway. The kitchen's right through there."

Delphine followed silently, slowly opening her senses to the new place, careful to keep a blank expression as she ducked into the kitchen. A few well-used pots and pans littered what little bit of counter space there was, including an old fashioned tea kettle, the brightness of the copper dulled by decades of use into a muted, well-worn patina. Cosima's prattling excuses about the mess in the kitchen faded into a distance as she reached for the pot, feeling a slight tingle along her fingers as she picked it up. It seemed warm under her touch despite the late autumn chill permeating the cottage, and she leaned in closer, feeling the warmth spread up her arms, letting the familiar tingle at the back of her neck-

"Delphine?"

She started, putting the kettle down with a clang. The American's eyebrows were high as she stared at Delphine, words hesitant.

"Would you.. like some.. tea?"

Delphine shook her head silently, still shaken by how easy she was drawn in by the residual energy of the place. "Non. No, thank you. Euh, the rest of the house?"

"Ah, yeah, sure, this way." There was confusion and a trace of doubt readily visible on Cosima's face as she led the way out of the kitchen, and Delphine pursed her lips in annoyance. She couldn't allow herself to get distracted so easily, especially not in front of a first-timer. She would have to make an effort at being sociable, put the other woman at ease.

"The bedroom and the bathroom are this way," Cosima led her down the main hallway toward a darkened room and the hairs at the back of Delphine's neck stood up, "unfortunately, there's only one of each, but, um, I'm sure we'll manage somehow. I'll take the couch, obviously, um, assuming you're not heading back out tonight?"

Delphine watched as Cosima flicked on the light and entered the room but she stopped on the threshold, teeth on edge. This much was obvious, whatever made the American reach out to Felix for help was not for made up or fanciful reasons. There was a heavy load to this house, small as it was, a strong undercurrent of unreleased energy that made Delphine's entire body break out into goosebumps and her teeth clench uncontrollably. And it all seemed to be centered in the bedroom.

Cosima poked her head out of the room quizzically.

"You coming in?"

"Ah, no. No." Delphine shook her head, taking a small step back, allowing herself that small physical reaction. "I think I will be fine on the couch, actually, thank you." She attempted a half smile, hoping to dispel the bewilderment on the smaller woman's face. She had not been prepared for how strongly she would feel the spirit of the place. It would be best to start preparing her host for what was to come. "I actually don't think either one of us will be doing much sleeping tonight, honestly."

Cosima's eyebrows flew up again, and she surprised Delphine by chortling out loud. "That's what she said."

"Pardon?"

Delphine watched with confusion as Cosima's hand flew to her mouth, tips of her ears turning bright crimson. "I mean- I, uh- You know," the brunette stammered, then took a breath, and smiled at Delphine beatifically, "what I meant to say was, what do you mean by we won't get much sleep?"

It was as though Delphine saw the woman in front of her for the first time then - saw past the hair and the glasses and the garish outfit, past her own bad mood, and took in the pointed canines displayed freely by the full-watt smile, the crinkles in the corners of her eyes, the _warmth_ that emanated from the smaller woman. The smile had transformed Cosima from merely pretty to captivating, and she felt her own face open in return, smiling, felt her shoulders relax.

"Why don't you show me the living room, and then we can sit down and talk? Felix gave me some details, but I want to hear from you about your experiences with the cottage."

Sobering, Cosima nodded and headed toward the living room. "Honestly, I'm still half convinced that I'm making up the whole thing. Each morning I wake up, exhausted, granted, but ready to chalk it all up to a dream, and," she stopped at the threshold of the room, angling her body to allow Delphine to stand next to her, and pointed, "and every night that damn clock starts chiming at 11:17, and.."

Delphine looked at her, willing the smaller woman to continue. She recognized the behavior well from her own experience - how her mind had worked hard on rationalizing away the unexplainable, supernatural encounters in Aheny, and, failing to will them away, struggled to successfully put into words what she had gone through. She felt a flash of sympathy for the woman next to her, a desire to help. In the process, she allowed, she might be able to finally lay her own ghosts to rest.

"Hey," she touched Cosima's arm lightly, drawing her eyes up, "I often tell my clients this, you may not be sure of what you experienced, or even if it was real, but you don't have to be certain to talk to me." She smiled reassuringly, holding Cosima's gaze. "I don't look for certainty with this kind of work. Just..," she shrugged, "tell me, as well as you can, what happened."

Cosima dropped her gaze to the floor, scuffing the worn rug with her toes. "Yeah, well, I'm a scientist, and certainty is kind of pretty important for what I do." She peered over her glasses at Delphine with a self-deprecating smirk, "You must think I'm insufferable. I practically drag you half way across the continent and now that you're here, I clam up."

Delphine pressed her lips together, raising her eyebrows exaggeratedly, and walked over to the living room sofa, aiming for levity. She made a show of plopping down and leisurely crossing her legs at the ankles, stretching out. "Well, as they say in America, it's your money. I do charge by the hour, though."

She watched Cosima's eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the flirtatiousness, but then the smaller woman pursed her lips and sauntered over to prop her hip against the sofa arm.

"Is that so? Well, Ms. Cormier, though I appreciate you making an appearance on such short notice, I am afraid that I will need some kind of professional references before I will feel comfortable entrusting you with this task." She opened her arms in an exaggerated motion, taking in the room. "Who is to say that you're _qualified_ to tackle all this on your own?"

Delphine canted her head, smiling. It took ten minutes in Cosima's company for her to go from half cursing Felix for getting her in this situation, to openly flirting with the attractive American. There was something about the woman, if she were to be honest with herself, a frisson that electrified the air between them, that made her both innately at ease in Cosima's presence, and made the pit of her stomach flutter with pleasant tension.

"It's _Doctor_ Cormier, _Ms_. Niehaus, and I feel that you will find me," she paused for effect, unable to resist the pull of flirtation, "amply qualified. As a fellow scientist, I assume you will be glad to hear that we are going to do an experiment."

Cosima's eyebrows flew up and she leaned in with excitement.

"You're also a scientist?" There was genuine delight on the brunette's face, and Delphine was happy to note, no disbelief. She had grown weary of the snorts of incredulity, mostly from men, that usually followed that question. "That's awesome! What- what do you do?"

"I'm a physicist. Well, was. I mean," she gestured awkwardly, unprepared for the turn in the conversation despite leading it there herself, "I'm on a, _comment on dit_ , um, a sabbatical right now."

Cosima leaned back, impressed. "Shut up! A physicist! That's hard core, dude. I'm evo-devo myself, ah, evolutionary development, final year of my PhD, but you," Cosima's gaze travelled the length of her form appreciatively, from the bottom of her knee-high boots to the mess of blonde curls pinned at the nape of her neck before settling on her face and Delphine, suddenly timid under the frank regard, felt herself start to blush, "that's something else. So," she furrowed her brow with curiosity, "how does that square with you being a ghost buster?"

"I prefer paranormal investigator," Delphine dead panned, aiming to reclaim her equilibrium, then took a deep breath. "I am a quantum physicist and my work at Conseil Européen pour la Recherche Nucléaire focuses on confirming the existence of Kaluza-Klein states of particles."

Cosima stared at her for a beat then shifted on the sofa, crossing her legs. "That was .. both hot and _utterly_ incomprehensible. I tend to think I'm fairly smart, but maybe you can try using English this time?"

Delphine laughed, enjoying the low burn of the compliment in the pit of her stomach. "Cheeky. In plain terms, I work on proving the existence of extra dimensions. So, wouldn't you find me," she leaned in, holding Cosima's gaze, "qualified enough?"

Cosima swallowed thickly, and Delphine noted how the American's eyes flitted to her lips, the minute widening of her nostrils, the visible thrum of her pulse point midway down her neck. It confirmed what she suspected from the moment Cosima opened the door, that they had more than Felix's friendship in common. And yet, she did not fly to Ireland despite all that had happened to her here for the purpose of flirting with an attractive stranger. Though, she mused, Cosima did seem to reciprocate the interest, at least if judging by her current tongue-tied state… She was pulled back from her musings with a start as a strong, fetid odor enveloped her. It was both sulphurous and musty and instantly recognizable - the effluvium of the bog.

" _Mon dieu,_ do you smell that?"

Cosima blinked dazedly, slow to adjust to the sudden change in the blonde's behavior, "I don't- smell what?"

Delphine stood up, the back of her neck prickling. There was a sudden, almost violent shift in the energy of the house, and she clenched her teeth, feeling her whole body break out in goosebumps. It came on abruptly then, and she staggered back with the force of the feeling: anger, pure, blistering force of terrible anger filled her chest.

"Delphine? Are you okay?" She could hear Cosima, voice rising with anxiety, at a distance, vaguely. Her chest expanded with the force of it, and she felt her lips pull back in animalistic fury, baring her teeth, ribs creaking with the fullness of the constricting, violent temper. The smell of the bog rushed in with each labored breath she tried to draw in, growing stronger, more pungent, until she could _taste_ it at the back of her throat, the brackish, stagnant swamp.

Delphine tried to resist, to pull away from the overwhelming sensation, the _anger_ coursing through her, but it was too much. She felt an all-encompassing feeling of rage, then, almost as swiftly, a sudden, keen sensation of futility - she fisted her hands in her hair and pulled, the pain providing a brief, clear connection to her own body, her own experience. The sensations kept coming, wave after wave - rage, futility, a deep, deep sense of loss, and she felt herself - her own sense of who she was - drowning under the emotions.

The stink of the rot filled her nostrils, her mouth and she fell to her knees, unable to breathe, the feelings pulling at her, her chest constricted, unable to expand, filling - filling with water, with the taste of decay, and she couldn't breathe, she couldn't- the front door slammed shut with a loud bang, and Delphine fell forward, released. She weakly turned on her back, chest heaving as she greedily sucked in lungfuls of clean, fresh air.

"God, Delphine! Are you okay?" Cosima's hands were steady as she gently helped her sit up, despite the edge of panic in her voice. "Are you- what was- are you okay?"

"Caireann."

Cosima paused her ministrations, nonplussed. "Excuse me?"

Delphine cleared her throat, trying to shake the vestigial sensation of drowning, thankful that the visceral experience was fading from her memory like a bad dream. She said it again, remembering the desperation with which it was exhaled in the last moment before the water rushed in. "Caireann." She looked at the American, noting the pallor of her face, knowing she was just as shaken by the experience. "I think we have a name."


	3. Chapter 3

Delphine hummed to herself as she worked on setting up the infrared camera, lens pointed squarely at the clock on the mantle. It helped to keep busy and focused on the task at hand - set up the equipment, double-check that everything was recording properly, ensure that her laptop was reading and logging the feedback. It left little room to dwell on her decision to stay in the cottage through the night, determined to see her job through. Whatever - whoever's - experiences had overwhelmed her earlier, it was clear that the suffering was real, and lasting. She shuddered with a sudden chill at the memory of the anger, and the sadness that had consumed her. No, she wanted to help, and the only way to do so was to stay put. In the morning she would go to the village to do some research on the name that had to come to her with such force - Cairenn. She knew just the bartender to ask, too.

Cosima, wide-eyed and shaken, had protested her decision to stay. Once she realized that Delphine was not leaving, she had first squared her jaw, then her shoulders, and announced that she was staying, too. Delphine had tried to talk her into leaving, knowing she'd be able to find a room at the bed and breakfast in the village for the night, but she knew that her relief at Cosima's decision was obvious. Normally she preferred to work alone, her solitary nature well suited for the quiet, long nights on her own, but this time she had been only too happy for the company.

"Sooooo," Cosima interrupted her train of thoughts mischievously, her grin visible from across the room, "bet you didn't hear this one, either."

Delphine raised a suffering eyebrow in her direction, pulling her eyes from the camera's viewfinder. She _had_ been only too happy for the company. "There is more?"

"Dude, like hundreds. Okay, ready?" Without waiting for an answer that would most likely not allow her to continue, Cosima asked. "What's a ghost's favorite dessert?"

Delphine gave her a flat look. "' _J'saise pas._ " She should be relieved, she supposed, that Cosima was turning to 'humor' as a means of dealing with a rather frightening experience.

The American frowned at the foreign words, but continued on gamely, "Well, unless that means 'ice _scream_ ," you've got it wrong!"

"Ah. Funny." Delphine bent toward her camera again. After two beats she realized that silence could, indeed, be deafening. She looked up questioningly at the now too-quiet Cosima only to find the American staring dejectedly at the floorboards. _Pour l'amour de Dieu._ What now?

"Cosima?" Brown eyes met hers, and she realized that Cosima was.. _pouting?_ The detached, analytical part of her noted with raised eyebrows the immediate reaction this caused - consternation and desire to soothe - but remained silent as she gave in to the immediate impulse. She straightened up, finding herself both tongue-tied and eager to take back her earlier terseness.

"I, um," she faltered, hardly believing that she, who spent years living in English-speaking countries and prided herself not only on her technical mastery of the language, but also her proficiency with cultural slang in Ireland, the UK and the US, was about to say this, "sometimes I have.. trouble understanding jokes, because, you know, English is not my native tongue, and-"

"Aw, no, dude, your English is perfect! It's.. beautiful." Cosima's smile was back, turning slightly chagrined. "My jokes are a bit lame, though."

Delphine smiled back, unconcerned with how ridiculous her analytical self would find this interaction to be. "Your joke wasn't lame. It was funny."

They stared at each other for a beat, smiling, until Delphine cleared her throat, breaking eye contact. "You're, um, setting the EMF reader incorrectly," she pointed at the forgotten device in Cosima's hand, "You need to triangulate the space."

"Got it. Triangulating as we speak, Doctor!" Cosima beamed back at her, and propped the hand-held electromagnetic field reader on the sofa armrest. "What do these things do, anyway?"

"Hunt ghosts." Delphine moved to her laptop, pulling up the camera feed. The screen glowed a bright orange, bleeding into yellow and green right at the opening of the fireplace, before fading into a muted gray in the surrounding area, confirming that the fireplace, as expected, was leaking cold air into the cottage. Still, the camera feed would allow her to set a baseline for any normally occurring cold spots in the house, and help her capture any sudden temperature fluctuations.

"Ha-ha, hilarious." Cosima bent over her, peering at the screen with interest. "What's that, now? Impressionist painting for Dummies?"

Delphine felt a chill break across her skin again, not unpleasantly, as Cosima's breath tickled her ear. She shifted, straightening out, and surreptitiously ran her hands down her arms in an effort to tame the goosebumps.

"I think it would be more of a modernist style, non?" She ignored Cosima's _I can't believe you're correcting my off-hand, smart-alecky quip about art_ look and continued, "The camera will help with our little experiment - it should be able to tell us if there are any sudden temperature changes in the room."

"Oh." Cosima wrapped her arms around herself protectively. "Like, if the lady with the icy fingertips decides to show up again?"

Delphine nodded. "Yes. And if she does, we should be able to catch _something_ on one of the instruments we set up. And," she gave Cosima a reassuring smile, "I'll be right here."

Cosima smiled back, holding her gaze, before growing serious. "We should just leave, Delphine. After what happened to you…," she trailed off, frowning. "I mean, that was much scarier than anything that happened before, and-" she shook her head vehemently, "I'm going to kill Sarah, I can't believe she never mentioned anything-"

"Hey, I'm fine." Delphine laid her hand on Cosima's arm, effectively silencing both of them. There was no denying it then, not when she could _feel_ the heat spreading, pulsing up her arm from the point of their connection, feel it coming off the brunette even through the layers of her thick sweater.

Delphine withdrew her hand, fingers instinctively curling in, pressing against her tingling palm. She shook it out furtively, glad that Cosima's attention was still focused on her own arm, the smaller woman staring at the spot where Delphine's hand had been.

She strode across the room with feigned purpose, trying to regain her focus. Whatever was at play in the house was clearly having a continued effect on them. She bent over the EMF reader situated on the coffee table, avoiding Cosima's eyes. "Sarah might not have had anything to warn you about, Cosima. There are usually many different elements that contribute to a sighting," she straightened up, enumerating, "individual receptivity, atmospheric changes, time of year-"

"Atmospheric changes?" Cosima smirked at her goofily from across the room. "What, like, 'it was a dark and stormy night'?"

Delphine smiled despite herself, nodding. "In a way. Sudden drops in atmospheric pressure can cause electrostatic spikes, which in turn produce stronger ionization. Higher in the stratosphere this causes lightning. But when this happens close to the surface, it's been tied to more frequent instances of paranormal phenomena."

Cosima stared at her unblinkingly for a beat, eyes lidded, before running her tongue across her lips. "That's, um.. yeah. Ionization. So," she clapped her hands, seemingly rousing herself, "Do you know what kinds of roads ghosts haunt? Dead ends!"

Delphine pressed her lips together, stung. "I'm sorry, I must be boring you with all this-"

"No! No, god, no," Cosima stepped toward her, alarmed, hands extended in a placating gesture. "You've got the wrong idea. Boring would be good, boring would be- you know, the opposite of you." She stopped, pinching the bridge of her nose. " _I'm_ sorry - I must still be out of sorts, and I feel I've been making a fool of myself since you walked in. You're just," she paused, opening her arms toward Delphine in a gesture of surrender, "not what I expected. None of this is."

Delphine nodded, understanding. She could fully relate. "Let me guess, you were hoping for a pudgy, bespectacled gentleman holding a divining rod?"

Cosima grinned widely, tongue poking from behind her teeth. "I wouldn't go that far - the last time I hoped for a man with any kind of a rod was a long, long time ago." She canted her head to the side, looking at Delphine straight on, her smile softer, but no less mischievous.

Delphine canted her head, attempting to keep a straight face. "Are you always this much of a flirt with people you've barely met?" She was starting to get used to the rapid shifts in their conversation, and the underlying, tangible current of their mutual attraction. Cosima's light-hearted approach made both the mutual tension and the seriousness of their situation easy to bear.

"Mmm, only with the tall French ones," Cosima attempted a sly smile, but her burning cheeks belied her bravado. Suddenly bashful, she dropped her gaze, busying herself with tidying up the mess of cables at the foot of the coffee table. "Are we, um, almost done with the set up? What's our next move?"

Delphine shook her head in an effort to clear it, reminded of the night ahead of them. "Ah, yes. Right. Well," she looked around, checking the status of their progress, "we seem to be pretty much finished. Now, unless you have any other jokes to share, we sit and wait for something to happen."

Cosima nodded her head gravely, then plopped on the couch, patting the cushion next to her. "I got one more for you, Doctor. A ghost walks into a bar. The bartender looks at him and says, We don't serve spirits."

"Ah, is that so?" Delphine lowered herself to the sofa, consciously keeping to the opposite end. "But I thought all bars served boos?"

She was rewarded with a loud chortle from her companion, Cosima's eyes glinting behind her eyeglasses.

"I see what you did there, Cormier. So much for your poor English skills, huh?"

Delphine shrugged noncommittally, trying not to let a smile escape. "I'm a quick study."

They looked at each other, matching smirks askew, letting the moment build. This time Cosima looked away first.

"So," Cosima rubbed her hands together, "it's just before 10PM and we have some time to kill before dawn. Ever played Two Truths and a Lie?"

"Euh, no." Delphine shook her head with faux trepidation, "but it sounds like something best done over a drink. I believe I saw a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen?"

The smaller woman grinned brightly, springing up. "I shall bring it forthwith, m'lady! You, in the meantime, think of two truths and a lie to tell about yourself, and I'll have to suss out the lie."

Delphine watched her exit the room, then stretched her legs across the coffee table. The infrared read on her laptop pulsed gently with changing colors, the room around her quiet. She ran a hand through her hair, letting the soft strands slip between her fingers. She found herself back in Ireland unexpectedly for the first time since her entire life was turned upside down, seemed to have been possessed by a suffering spirit within hours of landing, had shamelessly flirted with a complete stranger and yet, in this moment, sinking into a lumpy, too-soft sofa in a haunted cottage, she found herself strangely at peace. Life, she thought to herself, was exceedingly strange at times.

* * *

The first thing Cosima registered upon slowly rousing from slumber was sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains and hitting her square in the face. The second thing, which intruded a lot less gently into her waking mind, was the sharp pain in her neck and lower back.

She shifted slightly, eyes closed tight against the intruding daylight, and tried to diagnose the source of her discomfort. Her neck was bent at a weird angle, and there seemed to be a foot lodged under her ribcage.

A foot-

Her eyes flew open as her head snapped up in confusion. At the same instant, her memories came flooding back - Delphine, the ghost, their evening spent on the couch engrossed in conversation, the many instruments arrayed around them forgotten. How they'd slipped lower against the sofa armrests, second snifters of whiskey in their hands, sharing tales of childhood escapades and work passions with each other. How it was well past midnight when Cosima realized, with surprise and relief, that the ghostly clock failed to chime that night, the perfumed specter staying away. How they eventually ended up stretched comfortably across from each other on the sofa, heads propped against armrests, feet tucked in under a blanket. And, it appears, fallen asleep there.

She rotated her head with a soft groan and opened her eyes. She blinked wearily into the brightness biting into her corneas, but realized that her glasses stayed perched atop her face the entire night as the world came into sharp focus. And stole her breath away.

Delphine was still asleep at the other end of the sofa, face open and relaxed in slumber. Her head was tilted to the side, mouth slightly open, and the sunlight streaming in through the window behind her gilded her hair, creating a golden corona of mussed curls around her face. She was stunning.

Unbidden, Cosima felt the impulse to record the moment that wouldn't be repeated, the slant of light at just the right angle, the softness of the early morning light and the unguarded, beautiful face of her slumbering companion. She reached out gingerly toward the coffee table, cautious not to wake up Delphine, but her hand landed on empty space where her phone had been. Groaning in frustration she turned slightly to look for it but instead her eyes fell on the Polaroid camera perched within easy reach. She had brought it out to show to Delphine during their discussion on permanence of things and physicality of memory - she was making a point on impermanence of electronic mementos, be they emails or facebook posts, compared to a seemingly lost art of writing physical letters and leafing through actual photographs.

She reached for the camera, rationalizing away her unease at wanting to take an intimate portrait of a sleeping woman - this way, she would be able to hand Delphine the only copy of the photo, and the beauty of the moment would still be preserved.

She squinted through the viewfinder and pressed the shutter button, camera responding with a loud click and soft whirring sounds as the polaroid came out. Delphine reacted to the noise with a murmur, shifting slightly, and Cosima took the photo gingerly, placing the camera back. She pushed back slightly, sitting up, watching with guilty pleasure as Delphine's eyelids fluttered open, the tall woman slowly gaining wakefulness.

"Good morning," she intoned quietly, "I'm sorry for waking you up."

"Morning." Delphine squinted at her sleepily, betraying no self-consciousness at waking up under Cosima's admiring gaze. "What time is it?"

Cosima smiled, shrugging her shoulders. "I've no idea. I tried to find my phone, but my hand landed on the camera and, um," she extended her arm, offering the polaroid to Delphine, "I hope you won't mind. The light was so beautiful."

Delphine accepted the photo, eyebrows drawn in confusion. "You took a photograph of me while I was sleeping?"

Cosima scratched the tip of her nose, avoiding Delphine's gaze. "Um, yeah, though I now realize that sounds rather Single White Female, I really-"

" _Mon dieu!_ " Delphine sat up ramrod straight, staring at the photo white-faced.

Cosima started, eyebrows raised high. "I'm-I'm sorry, I mean, I should have asked first, but you were asleep. You can totally tear it up, I just thought-"

"Cosima," Delphine handed the photo back to her, "look."

Cosima took the photo, still looking in consternation at Delphine who looked shell shocked, face pale in the brightening light. She looked like she'd seen a- her eyes fell to the photo and she couldn't help but smile at the gentle, relaxed beauty of the French woman's sleeping countenance, the light filtering through the window... blocked by a person looming above Delphine, standing in the background just behind the sofa. Its face was cast in shadow, and the body's outline was blurry and out of focus, but it was undeniable - a short, slim woman, her dark hair spilling around her shoulders in waves, leaned over the sleeping Delphine, hands grasped together at her chest, as though to stop herself from reaching out.

Cosima looked up, chilled to the bone.

"Holy fuck." They had caught themselves a ghost.


End file.
